Stray Dogs
by AMZ-C-Raven
Summary: Vic and Shane get caught up in a bizarre situation after an Iranian informant and two cops end up dead, and the trail leads them further and further north as the body count grows.
1. City of Angels

**Hey there, this is a pretty radical departure for me but this has been a lot of fun to write. I hope people enjoy it and read it with an open mind. Chronologically this takes place towards the beginning of Season 2, but it was framed to take place in the lull between when Vic and the gang first encounter Armadillo and when he begins to become a serious threat. I'm trying to write it so the timing is incidental to the story.**

**Anyway, I hope you enjoy it!**

Chapter 1 - "City of Angels"

"You know, I love this place... really, I do... you guys smoke almost as much as we do..."

The swarthy man in the chair continued to squirm, making groans and grunts through the duct tape covering his mouth as he stared wide eyed at the pale man and his associates. He wore a very worn, very dirty white Dead Kennedys t-shirt, and his well-sculpted arms were covered in dual sleeve tattoos, an elaborate blue and white ice design going up one arm and the other covered in red and orange flames. His face, however, could best be described as a pure scowl even when he smiled.

"But I don't like comin' here all the fuckin' time to straighten shit like this out... like fucking seriously man... Ghasem, my man... what the fuck happened..."

The tattooed man who was speaking looked at the large, beer-bellied man next to him, who then proceded to nod as if they had just communicated via telepathy. The larger man picked up a toolbox next to him and walked over to the man in the chair. He pulled a pair of gardening shears out of the toolbox. The tattooed man then looked over to the darker man on his other side.

"Now let's hear it from you..."

The darker man stepped forward and tore the duct tape off of the man's mouth in one fell swoop, ripping off part of the man's beard in the process. The man yelped in pain and the darker man punched him in the jaw. The larger man grabbed the man's hand and proceeded to force the man's index finger open.

"Please, no, fuck no please I..."

The darker man punched him again.

"Ok, from the top... you're telling me that what exactly happened to my drugs? That was a lot of money. The Armenians don't exactly like it when vast sums of cash just FUCKING DISAPPEAR, GHASEM!" He nodded again and the larger man suddenly snipped the very tip of the man's index finger off. The man screamed in agony, writhing as the darker man held him as still as he could while the beer-belly forced open his middle finger.

"Better start talking, I'm getting pissed..."

"I... I don't... these people... they jacked the truck once we entered the county!" The man screamed again as he glanced at his now severed index finger. The larger man then suddenly snipped the tip of his middle finger off, and proceeded to force open the next finger.

"Don't look at it you dumb fuck... less screaming and more talking..."

"It'd help if you didn't keep cutting off parts of his hand..." A shorter dark-skinned man sitting on a table behind the tattooed man suddenly spoke up.

"Shut up. Now... go on."

"Fuuuck... well... we were... uuuu... just over the county... line... maybe 20 minutes... when this van pulls out of... aaaaa.. a side... street... blocks... uus... aaa... guys with... aaaAKs... they knew..."

"What'd they look like?"

"Big white guy, a black guy... I don't fucking-" The next tip was snipped off and the man was in agony once more. The pinkie was next.

"What. Did. They. Look. Like."

"Please, uhhh... fuuuuuuck... shiiiit... one had yellow... hair... was ripped, fuck... built like a tank... other guy was... aaaa short, really... and black..."

The tattooed man turned around and the shorter man handed him a blown up picture.

"These the guys?" The tattooed man walked over and held the picture up for the man to see.

"Y-yeah... that's them for sure... fuck...fuuuuck..."

"Krikor called it. LA County sheriffs." The shorter man offered.

"Yeah, yeah..." The tattooed man waved him off. "Ghasem, you guys fucked up, you know that right?"

"What are we... supposed to do, mman? Fuckin' die for those drugs?"

"Wrong fucking answer."

This time the beer belly snipped off Ghasem's entire pinkie. It took three tries. The dark man proceeded to punch Ghasem in the face and neck to silence his screams.

"So what now?" The shorter man interjected again.

"Fuck it, finish him."

The beer belly proceeded to snip off Ghasem's thumb this time.

"I said finish him you fuckin' idiot!"

The beer belly shrugged, a strange grin on his bearded face, his emotions further hidden behind his dark glasses. "Souvenir." He held the thumb up delicately between two fingers.

The dark man let out a heavy sign and proceeded to draw his pistol, shooting Ghasem in the forehead. His body jerked back and then was still.

"Well that was interesting." The man with the tattoos said as he shook his head.

"So now what?"

"Now we hit those fuckers where it hurts, Vikram. We contact Krikor, we get the addresses of these two fuckin' shitbag cops, and we make an example of them. This is why I hate this fucking town, and fucking coming here. Everybody's so fucking crooked it makes fucking Quebec look small-time. Jesus Christ. If it's not this cop it's that cop, this politician that politician. And with the fucking Mexican cartels getting bigger..."

"Kane, Kane... you're ranting..." Vikram slid off the table.

"Yeah, yeah... fuck... I just wonder how much longer til it ain't worth comin' down here at all."

"Retire to Amsterdam man."

"That's the plan. Fuck. We got work to do. Come on."

The beer belly gathered his toolbox and the dark man went over to Vikram's table to retrieve a large case.

The quartet made their way across the warehouse and proceeded to open the door into the bright sun of the early afternoon. The glare of the sun gave them a few seconds of blindness, disorienting them as their vision returned and they found two uniformed cops casually strolling towards them, chatting it up before stopping suddenly and turning their attention to the men leaving the building they were approaching.

"Fuckin' hell."

The cops drew their pistols. "Hands on your head! Hands.."

Kane dropped to the ground suddenly, opening up a line of sight for the dark man, who had already popped his AA-12 automatic shotgun out of the case. Firing blinding the dark man unloaded the entire clip quickly into the direction of the two cops.

Both of the cops where blasted to the ground, blood spraying all the way to their patrol car several feet behind them. They were practically cut in half as they hit the ground, dead in midair.

Now Vikram sighed. "Not one thing it's another." The beer belly went back into the warehouse and re-emerged with a can of gasoline.

"Nice shooting Astroman." Kane grunted as he made his back to his feet. He noted his t-shirt had torn around the waist, and the nasty gash around his wrist from the gravel below.

"Thanks boss."

* * *

><p>Detective Vic Mackey stared at the smouldering remains of the cop car as the fire fighters were still hosing it down, his bald head sweating from the resonating heat of the twisted metal.<p>

"I'm surprised it took this long for Ghasem to die." Shane offered behind him. He was staring at the blood stain that trailed slowly towards where Vic was standing. It seemed to trickle down, starting as a huge crimson mass and narrowing into red droplets, like something out of a Jackson Pollock painting.

"Yeah, the fucking idiot had a mouth on him." Vic added, turning to face Shane. They were about to continue speaking when Shane pointed behind Vic, noting an approaching car. They both watched, interested, as a very tall, mocha-skinned man in a grey suit stepped out of the car and walked towards them, displaying his badge. He was an LA County sheriff.

"Detective Pepa Koloatangi..."

"Sheriff's department, yeah." Vic cut him off. "Mind telling us what the hell you're doing here?"

"Guy inside the warehouse here was one of our C.I.s."

"Fucking high? He was one of ours." Shane added.

"Well, I guess you can't trust a criminal to be honourable, or honest."

Vic looked exhausted. "Seriously, what's going on?"

"Look... two of my guys... they encountered this guy on the road a couple of weeks ago."

"Encountered? They stupid enough to jack him?"

"They did."

"Fuck's sake."

"Yeah."

"Looks like they're into some deep shit here."

"We got no leads. The Iranians work freelance so often it's hard to tell who is working for who."

"Yeah." Vic paused for a moment. "Armenians and Iranians work together a lot. We got an Armenian guy we can shake down, he'd know the right people."

"Yeah?"

"Worth a shot. Follow us."

Detectives Wyms and Wagenbach had arrived by now and were examining the bodies of the two dead police officers. Dutch called out to Vic and Shane as they walked back to the truck. "No, don't bother to investigate the two dead cops, you know, your colleagues?"

Shane gave Dutch the finger as they drove off. Claudette waved them off like they were nothing.

* * *

><p>"I need to tell you, I took a very big risk getting this information for you." Krikor looked very grim, his goatee framing a frown. "My boss does not like when people ask for favours like this one..."<p>

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever the fuck ever. Ya got it or not?" Krikor reluctantly handed the large envelope to Kane, who opened it quickly.

"Shit, the blonde guy's just around the corner."

"Yes... Now... our business has concluded?"

"Yeah. Always a pleasure Krikor."

"Yes."

The quartet walked out of Krikor's apartment and proceeded to walk down the dingy hall towards the stairwell, disappearing into the concrete labyrinth. At the same time the red "up" arrow above the elevator began to glow, and within seconds Vic, Shane and Koloatangi emerged and made their way to Krikor's apartment. Vic wrapped on the door violently.

"I told you our business was concluded!" Came the voice behind the door.

"What business, Krikor?" yelled Vic.

"Shit!"

"Open up. We got two dead cops and a dead C.I... who was a very busy C.I. I might add... you don't want to be connected to this, do you?"

There was silence on the other side of the door. The three men looked at one another and suddenly all stared at the door once more when a loud creaking was heard. Vic forced the door open with his boot and proceeded to barrel across the room, hauling Krikor backwards out the window back into the room before he could make his escape. Krikor grunted loudly as the two men hit the hardwood floor.

"That fucking window..." groaned Krikor.

"Krikor."

"Mackey you fu-"

Mackey punched Krikor in the face.

"Krikor... like I said, we got quite a few bodies to be accounted for..." Vic slowly stood up, catching his breath. "Tell us what we want to hear, and we go away."

"These men... they come from up north... that's all I know. They were in town... to settle some unfinished business. A carjacking."

"Ok, great, now we're rolling. Now, are these men headed back up north?"

"Yes. Well, soon."

"Soon, Krikor?"

"They still have... unfinished business."

Vic sighed.

"You wouldn't happen to have pointed them in the right direction to finish that business, would ya?" Shane erupted.

"I... well..."

Shane kicked Krikor in the face as he was kneeling, shattering his nose. Blood gushed down the man's face as he cried out, the blood flowing out his mouth along with his breath and landing on Mackey's shoes.

"We got more important work, fellas." said Koloatangi, already out the door. "Sunday is just around the corner."

Shane and Vic looked at each other.

"I'm assuming he'll tell us on the way." shrugged Vic.

* * *

><p>Jeff Sunday relished any day off. Working homicide was taxing work, and the work always came at random. So many 3am phone calls, so many canceled vacations. Add that to the "extracurricular activities" he and his partner were involved in, and Sunday was a man who embraced any moment where he didn't have to think about any of that. His girlfriend had left him six months ago and he really hadn't had much of a chance to go out and meet new people. His friends from school, his buddies from his days playing on the defensive line with the Bruins, were all across the world, much less the country. A Lieutenant in Afghanistan. A janitor cleaning up after a chemical company in Kansas City. A prisoner doing 25 years at Pelican Bay for strangling his girlfriend and her best friend. A corpse in a shallow grave in Colombia because he put his trust in the wrong people. His one solace was Madden for the PlayStation 3. He often played as his beloved Raiders, and had poured so much time into the game that he could still come out victorious even in games where the true Raiders likely would not have.<p>

Sunday had played several years of pro football before becoming a sheriff. On his wall were pictures and uniforms from various leagues, CFL, NFL Europe, senior's leagues, even one from Germany. Sunday never got to play in the NFL. His prized possession was his Montreal Alouettes jersey. He never won a Super Bowl, but he counted among his accomplishments a Grey Cup.

Sunday was at the tail end of a close game against the New Orleans Saints when there was a knock at the door. It was 4th and inches, and even though a kick would tie the game 33-33, Sunday wanted to go for the touchdown and end it. The knock came again. Sunday assumed it was Jehovah's Witnesses.

Suddenly the hinges of the door exploded violently into a shower of wooden splinters and shards of metal. Sunday leapt off the couch, tripping over his PlayStation 3 and coming down hard on it, crushing it into a hunk of useless plastic. Sunday's plasma TV showed a blue screen.

Sunday tried to jump to his feet and reach the pistol he had in the cabinet across the living room, but his knees suddenly popped and pain shot up his legs, battle scars from his years on the field. He crashed to the ground uselessly with a loud groan.

A tattooed man entered with two men carrying shotguns. One, a large bearded man, carried a pump action shotgun that was smoking. He had obviously breached the door.

The other carried a strange looking gun. It was like an assault rifle, only bigger, boxier.

"Do it. Vikram's waiting."

The dark man with the odd gun pointed it at Sunday's left arm and fired two blasts, severing it at the elbow. Sunday erupted into a primal scream as the man continued his path counter-clockwise around Sunday's joints until he concluded at his head.

* * *

><p>Mackey and Shane came upon a devastated Detective Koloatangi standing in the remains of Detective Sunday's doorway. Inside was utter carnage.<p>

"Jesus Christ..." whispered Shane. "We've seen some fucked up shit, don't get me wrong. But Jesus... Some Robocop shit right there."

Detective Koloatangi stepped into the room slowly, staring dazed at Sunday's mutilated body. "Think anybody saw anything?"

Vic shook his head. "It's Saturday night. Building like this, everybody's out getting drunk or stoned. We gotta find the other guy, and fast. Come in our car, it'll be quicker."

"We're about 20 minutes away from Dom's house. Let's hope that's enough time."

* * *

><p>"I told you, for the last fucking time, it's no big deal."<p>

"You lose that much fucking money playing poker and it's no big deal? Are you fucking high, too?"

Detective Dominik "Dom" Rhodes and his lovely wife Rita had had this same conversation many times before. So many times, in fact, he could almost believe that they were reenacting a specific one at this very moment. He had to tell her the truth tonight. He had to break the cycle.

"Look, it's not a big deal... I got a... a raise at work this week."

"A raise?"

"Yeah."

"And you didn't tell me?"

"Well, it was recent, and I wasn't totally sure it was gonna happen, and I didn't want to jinx it, I guess."

"Baby, that is fucking awesome. So what are you pulling in now?"

"$470,000."

Rita's face turned very serious. "Uh, what? A year?"

Dom licked his lips. "Oh, well, actually... it was a bonus, not a raise."

"Which was it? A bonus or a raise?"

"A bonus. Definitely a bonus."

Her eyebrow arched very high very quickly. "A half a million dollar bonus?"

"Not that much. Well, yeah..."

"For... what the fuck did you do? Save the governor's life?"

"Let's just say me and Jeff pulled off a pretty big bust."

"I... I don't know..." She stood up from the couch very slowly as there was a knock at the door. "I don't know what to say about all this, I really don't." By now she had reached the door and opened it.

Rita fell backwards very suddenly, her body limp as though a switch had been flicked inside her brain. Blood poured from her mouth and nose as a very heavy set man with a bloody-butt shotgun strolled into the room, stepping over Dom's wife's motionless body. The man raised his shotgun to Dom, who slowly raised his hands. Two more men entered his house, one a short Indian-looking man with an immaculate part in his hair, the other a scruffy looking man with a torn t-shirt and colourful arm tattoos.

"Detective Rhodes." Said the man in the t-shirt.

"Wh-who the fuck..."

"We're friends of Ghasem."

"Oh... oh shit... oh shit..."

"Yeah, oh shit indeed." He raised his pistol. Suddenly the trio stopped, glancing over to the window as they heard car doors slam.

"Cops." Grunted the heavy set man.

"Thanks, Finn." added the Indian man with a hint of sarcasm.

"Shut up, Vikram. You call Astroman, then get what we came for. Finn, cover the back door."

"What are you gonna do?"

* * *

><p>Vic, Shane and Koloatangi practically lept from the truck before Shane had finished parking it. Weapons in hand, they began to approach the house when suddenly the window exploded outwards in a shower of glass and a purple shrouded mass slammed into Detective Koloatangi, knocking him to the ground.<p>

Vic and Shane began to fire into the open window as sporadic gunfire erupted from inside. The curtains blew in the now wide-open bay window. Vic and Shane grabbed Koloatangi's arms and began to pull him to safety behind the truck. Vic absently noted that it was not a purple shroud but a woman's billowing summer dress, complete with a battered and bloody woman inside.

Safely behind the truck, Vic noticed the firing had stopped.

"Give it up! We've got backup coming in 10 minutes."

"I doubt it. Sounds like a tactic to me."

"Hand to God man."

"You want Detective Rhodes to live, I suggest you listen to what we have to say."

"Ok, ok... what do you want?"

"A helicopter... and a bag full of hundred dollar bills... and some pizzas..."

Shane and Vic looked at each other.

"What the fuck is going on?" Mumbled Koloatangi, finally catching what the man inside the house was saying.

Vic peeked over the hood towards the house. "Sounds like somebody's trying to stall us."

* * *

><p>Vikram bounded down the stairs with a large duffel bag and a small black object. He strolled into the very well ventilated living room where Kane stood holding the detective by the neck with a gun to his temple.<p>

"Astroman's ready when we are. Got what we came for annnnd a little something extra."

"What is it?"

"This flash drive has some pretty key names on here. Including a couple of LAPD guys working as liaisons with the feds on another one of our operations."

"Do tell? How the hell did you find that?"

"Snooped on his computer, which was in the room with the money. Everything was under a 'Work' folder. Very easy. Here's the fun part. They're LA cops... but they're working against us up north."

"What, back home?"

"No, no, not that far. San Francisco. Part of a joint FBI-DEA action, looks like. Got cops up and down the I-5 working on this. Trying to nail us and all of our friends."

"Ahhh. Well, I guess we're off to San Francisco. Go meet up with Finn, give him the money to carry. I'll be there in a second."

* * *

><p>Shane looked uneasy. "They got awfully quiet all of a sudden."<p>

"Yeah... time to move. Koloatangi, you come up the right side, Shane you go left. I'll... negotiate."

They moved into position very carefully. As Vic made his way up the front walkway the door opened, very slowly. A shorter black man was held at gunpoint by a pale man, the two of them emerging from the house very slowly. A blue ice design looked from a frozen river descending from the pale man's gun and up his right arm. His other arm was clutched behind the man's back.

"I don't want no fucking trouble..." hissed the pale man.

Dom suddenly snapped and began to yell. "Don't listen to him! It's a set up! He's-"

The pale man yanked Dom backwards by his shirt violently, and then tossed him forward, his left arm prominent to Vic from this angle, flames licking up from wrist to elbow. Dom Rhodes fell into Vic's arms, throwing Vic off balance.

Koloatangi emerged from behind a bush to the pale man's left. "Grenade! He's put a grenade down his shirt!" He raised his pistol but the pale man was quicker, firing off four good shots, red dots popping up on the tall man's chest. Koloatangi dropped to the ground like a pile of bones.

Vic's eyes were wide as he flung Rhodes' forward in panic. The man's eyes were wider than Vic's as he tore at his shirt while falling. Shane tackled his boss and knocked them towards the truck, and the two scrambled to their feet to get away from the explosive device.

Rhodes had just torn his shirt free and the grenade began to drop when it finally exploded. Dom Rhodes was blown cleanly in half, his pelvis annihilated in the blast. Fortunately for everybody else this shielded the front yard from most of the shrapnel. But for Dom Rhodes, it was the end. He lay on the ground in a shredded mess, his eyes staring blankly into the night sky.

* * *

><p>Kane hopped into the van a block away from the house and the quartet drove off towards the highway.<p>

SAN FRANCISCO 347 M

* * *

><p>"You're very lucky to have avoided most of the shrapnel. You could have been killed." Detective Claudette Wyms was comforting Rita Rhodes, who was wrapped in a blanket and sitting by an ambulance. She was about to go to the hospital, but agreed to answer the LAPD's questions about the bizarre event.<p>

"I wish I had been... my fucking nose... my fucking teeth... goddamn it..." She began to cry. "Fucking Dom... fucking Dom..."

Vic was watching the scene, Dutch glaring at Vic as he did. Mackey's phone suddenly rang and he answered it.

"Did you get that thing I sent you?"

"Yeah." It was Ronnie Gardocki. "I was able to break into Koloatangi's computer and get those files. Not much of use. Outlines Rhodes and Sunday's activities... pretty loosely to be honest. He really didn't know a heck of a lot of what these guys were really up to. Includes two names, though: MacKenzie and al-Ghurab."

"Yeah? You run 'em?"

"Yeah, they've got no priors here... buuuut... they got International priors."

"What, Mexico?"

"Nope. Canada. These boys did time in Alberta for their role in a bunch of drug-related killings in Calgary about 8 years ago. Something to do with bikers and a Vietnamese gang. Originally from Vancouver though. Last known whereabouts seem to be there."

"Okay... what were those names again?"

"Kane MacKenzie. AKA Snowman. And Said al-Ghurab. AKA Astroman."

Vic scrawled those names onto a pad. "Think there's more than just those two guys."

"Only two names we could come up with."

"Thanks Ronnie, really, I owe you one."

"No problem, boss."

Vic hung up and turned around to find Shane.

"Got some names."

"Any locations?"

"Nope... Well, Canada, eventually."

"Fuck!"

"It's a start... it's a start."

"So wait... Canadians? Seriously?"

"Yeah. They had priors there."

"How'd they get here then?"

"Fake passports I imagine." Vic grunted in exasperation. "We gotta get these guys."

"I hate to say it... but why? We got bigger things on our plate don't we? The money train and all?"

"We've got time until- wait..." Vic raised his hand and stopped talking. He focused his attention on Rita Rhodes.

"-I don't know the whole story... he... fucking died before he could tell me."

Claudette was writing something down. "Something about money?"

"A lot of money. Like, half a million..."

Dutch cocked his head. "Did you see the money?"

"No, no... but he could have had it in the house, maybe... in his mancave or something..."

Dutch chuckled. "His what?" Asked Claudette.

"His... his mancave... where he had his computer and his fucking PlayStation so he could play football against Sunday."

Vic and Shane exchanged glances, catching Dutch's attention.

"What're you guys so interested in?"

Vic bit his lip. "Nothing, nothing at all. Carry on, detective."

* * *

><p>Later on in the truck Shane broke the silence.<p>

"Hard to believe they're Canadians. What a bunch of psychopaths."

"Agreed. Surprised the hell out of me, too, but I think... Listen... I think this guy, this whole fuckaround we've just witnessed, it could be connected to the money train."

"Are you serious?"

"I think these Canadians are part of this web that the Armenians have going on the west coast. They could even be counterparts, you know, doing things on that side of the border."

"Seems too easy, too simple..."

"That may be true... but after all this, wasting our time, killing those cops... we can't let this stand. And if we can find ourselves so more info on the Armenians' cash flow in the process, well... you see what I mean."

"Heck, it'd be a violation of our job not to do anything."

"Exactly, Shane. Looks like we gotta coupla stray dogs a long way from home. We gotta put 'em down for the greater good."

**To Be Continued... watch out for Chapter 2 - "Oro en Paz, Fierro en Guerra"**


	2. Oro en Paz, Fierro en Guerra

**I do not own the rights to The Shield.**

* * *

><p><span>San Francisco, CA - "Oro en Paz, Fierro en Guerra"<span>

* * *

><p>"Hold on a second... what happened?" Captain David Aceveda had just been roused from a long-overdue nap to a rather unpleasant phone call.<p>

"Two county sheriff's detectives dead, another in the hospital... not likely to make it." Detective Claudette Wyms spoke very matter-of-factly, compassion being compressed in her voice.

"And.." Aceveda exhaled in frustration. "Mackey?"

"Yeah, he was there. The one in the hospital was with him most of the afternoon, apparently. He found one of them, and saw the other one blow up."

"... Blow up?"

"Killed by a grenade."

"... Seriously?"

"Yes."

Aceveda let out a very long sigh. "Nothing I can do tonight... I'll talk with him in the morning." There was a pause on the other end of the phone. "Claudette?"

"I'm here. Anything more you want from Dutch and I?"

"No, no, sounds like... you have it all under control."

* * *

><p>Kane sat on a very worn metal bench, smoking a joint. Looking out over San Francisco Bay would be breathtaking, were it not 2 in the morning on a typically foggy night. He could barely see the bridge. Next to him sat Finn, who was smoking a cigarillo instead. They hadn't said anything in about 45 minutes.<p>

"Told you we couldn't trust them." It was Vikram, who had been pacing for the same length of time. Kane was wondering if Finn might snap and just shove him into the water. Not yet.

"Relax, man... not like this is a precise sort of operation."

"I just hate waiting. Fuck, you said midnight."

"I know what the fuck I said. Just relax. You're not a night owl, Vikram. That's your problem."

"Excuse me for being professional."

"Hey." It was Astroman, who had been very indiscreetly standing in between two large cranes about 10 feet away. They looked towards the road, and sure enough a Cadillac was making its way towards them.

Four black men stepped out of the vehicle and walked over to Kane.

Kane and a very rotund, bearded man with a large afro slapped hands. "Mojo."

"Snowman."

"Ummm... where are our friends?"

"They're here." He nodded to a skinny man with a pencil moustache beside him. The thin man went behind the Cadillac and popped the trunk. The other two gang members helped him drag two bodies with hoods over their heads out of the trunk. They then proceeded to drag them over to the Canadians and Mojo.

"These the guys?" Vikram pointed to them as the gang members proceeded to put the men on their knees. Vikram noted a large blood stain on the front of one of the hoods.

Mojo noticed Vikram's gaze. "He wouldn't shut the fuck up. Guys like this think they got huge ass dicks. We hadda show him he didn't."

"Fuck you..." grunted the bloody hooded man. Mojo rolled his eyes as the pencil moustache kneed the man in the side of the head and he collapsed into the other man, toppling the two over like bowling pins. The gang members then righted the two kneelers, the bloody hooded man almost crumpling over like a straw man but managing to stay upright.

"Okay, okay, enough." Kane raised his hands and tore the hoods off of the men's heads. "Hey. How the fuck are ya?" Silence. "Yeah, don't matter. You're dead. You're gonna be examples, ok? Finn, Astroman, shoot these fucks."

Vikram waved his arms. "Whoa, no, don't do that!"

"Huh?"

"Fucking drown them. They won't be able to find the bodies, they'll have just disappeared. We shoot them, there's gonna be blood, there's a chance we leave more evidence. Trust me, just weigh them down and toss them into the bay."

Mojo raised an eyebrow. "I had plenty of people shot, man... trust me, just shoot 'em and then toss 'em into the bay."

Kane shook his head. "Doesn't fucking matter, Christ. Drown 'em, I don't fucking care. Just do something."

Finn and Astroman shrugged, and proceeded to pick up each of the men. Already bound, they just carried them to the edge of the pier and tossed them into the bay.

"Whoa, wait, you've got to... fuuuuck... weigh them down!" Vikram was apoplectic.

Kane sighed. "Vikram, seriously, shut the fuck up. Are they sinking?"

Finn nodded. "Yup."

"Problem solved."

"I still say we shoulda shot them."

"Yeah, well, too late. Fuck. Thanks again for your services, gentlemen."

"Hey, before you go... we got another problem."

"Oh, great."

"Bikers, these fucks from Nevada... setting up shop in Fremont, but you know they're gonna be coming into town soon enough. Shot one of my boys the other day, shaking down some of my employees ever since they moved in."

"And?"

"And? And fuck you man, you owe us. We just killed two fuckin' feds, that's way above anything I've ever done. I go to Pelican Bay for that I ain't never comin' out. I got kids man, I don't have time to be fuckin' around in this stuff. You fuckin' owe it to us."

"Of course, of course."

"Well..."

"Shut up, Vikram. We owe it to the man. We're fuckin' men of our word. What are they called?"

"Caravan of Death. Buncha Iraq and Afghanistan vets, even a coupla Vietnam vets, real old guys, used to be lieutenants in bigger gangs that got split up. Think they're real tough assholes."

"But you need our help."

"Hey, fuck you man. Never hurts to have backup, and I trust you guys in a firefight. We got a feeling they're gonna make a move on us any day now. A Post Office in Chinatown got torched the other day, had a very important PO Box. Lost a lot of fucking money that day. Sons of bitches are getting braver."

"Well, it's not like we can stay long. I mean, we've got more business up north and the sooner we can get that done the sooner we can get home without going to a fucking hellhole American prison."

Mojo sighed. "Shut up, Vikram."

Kane smirked. "Hey, you got yourself a deal, Mojo." The two slapped hands again.

* * *

><p>Shane closed the Strike Team's door. Ronnie and Curtis hadn't shown up for work yet, so Vic and Shane were taking the opportunity to talk. "Any idea where these Canucks went?"<p>

"Not yet. Not quite sure how we're gonna have to proceed. Just know they're going north."

"Maybe they hit the Bay?"

"Nah, I think they're gonna make a beeline for Hoserland. They know they're in some bad shit. And they know if they get caught, U.S. cops will fucking rape them in the ass."

"Yeah."

There was a knock at the door, and Cpt. Aceveda entered. He pointed to Vic. "You. My office. Now."

Vic stood up from his chair. Suddenly his cell rang. "Lemme get this."

"Get up as soon as possible."

Shane chuckled. "That's what she said." A glare from the Captain quieted Shane's attitude. Aceveda slowly strode out of the room.

"Yeah?"

"Vic? Bill O'Dowd here."

"Bill, how the fuck are ya brother?"

"Great, man, great... listen, I think you're gonna wanna hear this. We had two bodies float by Fisherman's Wharf this morning. Undercover LAPD."

"What... what? In Frisco?"

"Yeah, I thought that was really weird too. Turns out they're meeting with two FBI agents every Sunday at this diner. Got DEA connections too. Sounds like something gang related, something to do with your turf."

Vic looked at Shane. "I see..."

"Yeah. I haven't talked to anybody back at the precinct, but..."

"Don't. I'll be there as soon as I can be."

"I figured you'd wanna be in on this. I got a lead that this arson over in Chinatown might be related. Gonna check that out. Call me when you get to town."

Vic hung up. "If this isn't our beaver-fuckers, I'm fucking Alex Trebek."

"Don't forget the captain."

"Ahhhhh shit."

* * *

><p>"Vic, I know I've given you a lot of slack. But what happened yesterday was a catastrophe."<p>

"Are you saying I killed those cops or something?"

"No, I'm not saying that at all. I'm just saying that your involvement escalated this into something beyond what it should have been."

"You don't know these people. They would have fucking killed those guys anyway. And as brutally as they did. We found that guy with his head and limbs blown off by a goddamn shotgun for chrissakes!"

"The incident with the grenade, Vic."

"They would have shot him. And his fucking wife too. Don't pin this on me. I've got a lead up north I'm gonna follow up on."

"North Hollywood?"

"San Francisco."

"San Francisco? You just got back from Tijuana!"

"Well, get used to it. We got two dead LA cops floating in San Francisco Bay this morning. You know it's gang related. You know it's related to yesterday. I'm your best hope of cracking this and turning your Bloody Saturday P.R. nightmare into you making your bed in the governor's mansion. And if we don't go to San Francisco now, we're gonna end up further and further north cleaning up millions of dead cops. Cuz it looks like our killers are Canadians."

"Oh, so you're going to Canada? Where are you going to go next? England? Japan?"

"If I have to... yeah."

* * *

><p>Vic suddenly emerged from the Captain's office, with Shane waiting patiently just outside the door.<p>

"Grab your coat. We're going north."

* * *

><p>The four had been sitting quietly at the Sunset Diner, slowly eating their breakfasts. It was almost 3, but they didn't care. An all-day breakfast was like manna from heaven for the night owl.<p>

Vikram suddenly leaned forward in his booth and whispered to Kane. "So now we're getting involved in turf wars with gang bangers and white trash? Kane, that doesn't seem like a very sound business policy."

"Good God, Vikram, don't you get it? We're not going to fucking 'help' anybody. We're gonna have this problem take care of itself."

"What do you mean."

"Well..." Kane gesture his flame-covered arm towards himself and Finn sitting next to him. Then he used his ice-covered arm to gesture to Vikram and Astroman.

"Uhhh..."

"We got two white guys and two black guys."

"We're not black."

"Black enough... especially to a bunch of fucking white trash bikers."

"What... oooooh..." Vikram looked at Astroman, who was watching him.

"You two go to Fremont and hit some bikers. Finn and I will kill some HV71 boyz over in Oakland. Sounds fair."

"Then we just let these guys wipe each other out?"

"Of course. And it looks like those two LA shitstain cops were connected to this, too, especially since we got HV71 to do most of the fucking work. And if this town turns into a warzone, fuck it, the chaos will cover our tracks as we make our way back to B.C."

"Shit, I gotta say, Kane. That works."

"Method to my madness, dipshit."

* * *

><p>"How's it going, Inspector?" Vic shook Bill's hand vigorously, and he emphasized Inspector with an almost French accent. Bill chuckled.<p>

"Good, good. That Chinatown thing wasn't quite a smoking gun, but it wasn't a dead end either. Turns out one of the PO Boxes was registered to a "Bud Mixon." Guy lives over in Oakland, some rundown place that looks like it's been abandoned for about 6 years. And his PO Box was full of charred cheques and money orders made payable to a bunch of pseudonyms... Bud Bishop, Malcolm Newton, Jamaal Jackson, Sharif Rahman, Amir Thompson, you get the idea. So we don't know who exactly it is, but it looks a lot like HV71, this Oakland gang. Mojo Nixon is running the show at the moment. We had the feeling they were deep in some marijuana distribution service."

Vic looked at Shane in surprise. "Distribution service?"

"Yeah... mailing it off. Point guard for the Portland Trail Blazers received about six pounds in the mail two weeks ago. I only found out through the grapevine. I know the DEA and the FBI were gonna get involved. Buddy of mine in the Bureau and I were sharing stories last weekend, so I've got a pretty good picture what's going down here."

Shane shook his head with a wry smile. "Blazers, eh?"

"Yeah, yeah. Anyway, seems HV71 is shipping not just Cali weed, but some B.C. bud, y'know, like any good business ya gotta diversify brands. Highly illegal. That Canuck is doing time in Washington State just for selling seeds. But everybody in Canada is too scared to touch this one. Get a bad vibe off of it."

Vic waved to Shane and the three men began to move outside of the police station towards their vehicles. "These Canadians seem to have their fingers into everything. Think they're mailing it south?"

"Nah, with the volume they're pushing, customs would have come across one by now, even by accident considering how fuckin' worthless those guys are sometimes. I'd say the guys you were talking about, these Canadians, might be bagmen or something, y'know, taking the stuff down south in person."

Shane rubbed his chin. "Well, we're gonna need more evidence. Ya got anybody we could knock around... I mean ask a few questions?"

"Glad you asked."

* * *

><p>Vikram unsteadily loaded his Mac-10 submachine gun, locking and loading. He turned towards Astroman. He was dressed all in camo, with a ski mask covering his face. He held an H&amp;K MP5-N at his side. "You ready?"<p>

He nodded.

"Let's do this." They proceeded to exit the hotel room and enter the rented car. Vikram drove while Astroman ended up riding shotgun with his submachine.

Turning down onto a more rural road near the suburbs, Vikram pointed suddenly. "There it is."

DOOM was the sign over the bar in massive red glowing letters. Sure enough there were tough looking individuals in leather and plenty of motorcycles in front of DOOM.

"Here goes nothing." Vikram sped up and then began to gradually slow down as they cruised past the bar. Waving his Mac-10 out of his window as Astroman lept up out of his window and over the roof, the duo began to unload a hail of gunfire on the unsuspecting bikers.

The first man to notice was an obese man with a long red beard. He tried to cry out before several bullets tore through his abdomen, sending him sliding along the wall with a red smear trailing behind him.

The second man had his back to Vikram and Astroman. CARAVAN arched over the crest on his back, two crossed blood red machetes over an enraged black cat on a yellow background. OF DEATH completed it all. The bullets tore into his back as he began to slowly turn around, dropping to the ground before he complete his cycle.

The last man had drawn his pistol and was firing blindly. He managed to hit one of the duo's tires. Between concentrating on the bar and the popped tire, Vikram suddenly lost control of the vehicle, hopping over the curb and slamming into a nearby tree.

Astroman, having slid back into the car and braced himself between the dash and the seat moments before impact, quickly slid out from the window with cat-like agility and crawled on top of the hood of the now-stalled car. He had drawn his own pistol and proceeded to empty the entire clip into the remaining biker in quick succession. The man barely had time to aim before al-Ghurab had killed him.

Vikram opened his door and walked out, blood coming from his now-broken nose.

"Fuck." was all he said. It was almost a sigh.

They could hear sirens in the distance, and the shattered glass meant that they had kicked an anthill and were soon to meet many, many more members of Caravan of Death. Vikram looked over in time to see a small red Honda civic drive by, an elderly couple on a Sunday drive. He proceeded to open fire on them.

The passenger-side window shattered in the face of the elderly wife, bullets missing her face by inches. The man proceeded to drop dead of a heart attack, and the vehicle slowly came to a gradual stop, bumping into a tree on the other side of the road.

The two men quickly ran over to the car, opened the doors and threw the occupants to the ground. Vikram put pedal to metal as the first of the bikers emerged with shotguns blazing away.

* * *

><p>"Hey, Kenny. Long time no see." The three cops strolled into the pool hall like they owned the place.<p>

An East Asian man wearing a San Francisco Giants cap groaned, putting down his pool cue and walking away from his friends. "I didn't do nothin' O'Dowd."

"Right, right... Post office in Chinatown burns, you don't know anything about that, do you?"

"No. Who are your friends?"

"Some buddies of mine from LA."

Kenny took a step back. "Los Angeles?"

Shane laughed. "No, Los Alamos, retard."

"Listen, listen... I don't want no trouble.." He lead them to a nearby booth and began to whisper. "Yeah, that was me... but if you wanted to bust me you woulda busted me... so what do you really want?"

"Who paid you?"

"These Bikers from over in Fremont. No names. Patches said things like Sgt. Rock and Lt. Dan, dunno what the fuck that means. Called themselves Caravan of Death."

O'Dowd nodded. "All we needed to hear. Thanks again Ken. Be seein' ya." The trio turned and began to walk away.

"Wait! Are you LA cops as tough as they say? You guys don't look so tough."

Vic shook his head in annoyance. "Does kidnapping a Mexican druglord and smuggling him into the United States in the trunk of a bullet-ridden car count as tough for ya, hotshot?"

Ken raised both hands, his friends eyes upon him. "Hey, just asking man."

The cop left the bar in silence. O'Dowd spoke up again when they exited the hall.

"I was afraid of this. These Cee O' Dee bikers came in from Reno not long ago. Haven't seen 'em around much, but whenever they're in town, things get ugly. Usually they've been working over in Oakland, cutting down HV71 and some other gangs. Pretty rare they come over to this side of the Bay."

Vic put on his sunglasses as they began to enter Inspector O'Dowd's car. "Sounds like something big is going down soon."

* * *

><p>Finn spat a big wad of chewing tobacco on the pavement. He adjusted his vest to scratch an itch. He hefted his shotgun over his shoulder and sighed.<p>

Finally the door opened and Kane exited, dressed in the same biker leathers as Finn.

"I don't know how you managed to wear these, man. I hate this shit. Feels like I'm out cruising for a blowjob or something."

Finn shook his head and gave a short chuckle. "Would you rather Vikram was wearing them then?"

"Hey, listen. Enough of that. We've been over this."

"Just saying, we haven't heard from them yet and I bet that dipshit couldn't shoot straight to save his life."

"That's why he's driving. And besides, do you wanna manage the books? Do you wanna run the business end, the boring stuff, all that bullshit? You wanna launder money? Vikram is the reason we've been so good at this. He was the last piece of the puzzle. This is partly about being able to bust heads, sure... but you gotta plan it out if you don't wanna get fucked in the ass in the shower for 25 years."

Finn was silent and Kane took the time to get on his bike. Finn spat another wad of tobacco on the ground.

Kane started his engine. "Now, it's time for you to do what you do best, my friend."

The two men rode through the streets of Oakland before they finally crossed over into HV71 territory. They both drove cautiously, keeping their eyes peeled for their targets.

Kane waved his hand to his left and Finn nodded, spotting the gang bangers at the same time he did. The began to drive faster, heading straight for them.

A skinny banger with a moustache turned around, drawing his submachine gun from his coat, driving the others to do the same. He was too late as Kane and Finn were upon them in no time, charging them like cavalry lancers. Holding their shotguns on their handlebars for balance, the duo unleashed a single blast at the exact same time when they were meters away from the men, cutting several of them down.

They used their momentum to smash through the men, one knocked down and crushed by Finn's bike. The skinny man felt Kane drive over his tibia, snapping it cleanly in half. He screamed and tumbled to the ground, the fractured appendage waving in the air. Waving his submachine gun the moustache man fired blindly in the direction of the two men.

Kane felt a white hot burn tear through his shoulder and suddenly his entire right arm went numb. He jerked the handlebars of his bike hard to the left and suddenly found himself thrown from the bike, skidding down the street before slamming his back into a parked car.

Finn wheeled around almost instantly, pulling an insane 180 in a matter of seconds, barreling back towards the screaming man with the moustache. He was now out of ammo but still pulling the trigger, still waving the gun.

Finn waiting until he was directly beside the man's screaming face before timing his last shotgun blast. He was quickly silent, the remains of his head scattered across the pavement.

Finn doubled back as Kane began to slowly get to his feet. He could move his arm again, but his shirt was now completely torn off his back. Road rash and bloody gashes criss-crossed his back. He slowly got on the back of Finn's bike, wrapping his bad arm around his waist with his good arm before gripping his bad arm tightly.

"You want to-"

Kane cut him off. "Get the fuck out of here first, we'll go from there. Fuck!"

* * *

><p>Mojo Nixon was playing his drumset when Dino walked in, a very grim expression on his face. Mojo instantly dropped his sticks.<p>

"What? What is it?"

"Those bikers killed Santiago."

Mojo stood up very quickly, kicking his bass drum over. "Son of a goddamn motherfucking cocksucking bitch!" He gave a guttural yell. "Some motherfuckers always trying to ice skate uphill. Jesus!"

"What do you wanna do next?"

"What do I wanna do next? Call the other captains. Tell 'em to meet me here tomorrow morning. We're gonna go out to Fremont and we're gonna fucking end this bullshit war right here, right now. This is war to the knife, man. War to the knife."

* * *

><p><strong>Stay tuned for Chapter 3 - "Baghdad by the Bay"<strong>


End file.
